Goodbye
by Snapjinx
Summary: The day is unimportant. The place is poetically appropriate. Who is the star of our story, you ask? A hero. A tragic, unsung hero of the world.


**So this is a very vivid dream I had the other night. I filled in those things that get blurry in the dreamworld and added a bit of beginning plot to explain why everything was the way it was. I promise this A/N will make more sense after you read the fic. ^_^ Takes place directly after "Sleepers," taking "Haunted" into account at the same time.**

**Things to know: The real Tesla died in his room at The New Yorker Hotel in 1943. In his time there, he became attached to a pigeon that would fly into his open window every day.**

* * *

_So This Is Goodbye_

* * *

"Magnus?" Will leaned into the doorway. "What's wrong?"

Helen sighed. "Nikola left last night."

Will glanced round before entering the room completely, his brow knotted in a worried frown. "Well, he always leaves without explanation after helping out. What's so bad about that?"

"I don't know," Helen said, shrugging. "I'd just hoped that this time…"

Will waited, but she did not go on. He nodded. "You're worried because he's mortal now."

"Very much so," Helen whispered. "Nigel and James are long dead, John is gone possibly forever, and Nikola…well, if I lost them all, I don't know what I'd do."

Will nodded again and then pursed his lips. "Well…maybe you should tell _him_ that."

Helen glared at her profiler as if about to snap back, but realized with a sigh that he was right. "Unfortunately, it's a bit late for that, now."

"Oh, come on, Magnus." Will rolled his eyes with a disbelieving smile. "You know him better than anyone still alive today. Where would he go?"

Helen legitimately thought about that for the first time and suddenly life flooded her body with adrenalin and she stood to her feet. "I think I know."

Then she swept out of the room so quickly that Will didn't have a chance to speak again. With a helpless smile and sigh, he shook his head and followed at a slower pace, ready to help if his boss needed anything.

*

Everything was so familiar. So old. The plaque on the door of room 3327 had amused him. The Nikola Tesla Room. _Right,_ he thought bitterly, _of course _now_ they appreciate you. _Telling the manager that he was the great, great grandson of the famous inventor earned him the honor of renting the room that had once been his home.

Standing in the old, familiar room, Nikola Tesla felt his age for the first time in his life. Oh, faking an elderly self had been fun—no mistake. But it got boring and he'd given up trying to live a lie. He'd decided he wanted to enjoy living rather than hide. And where had it ended? Taken out by his own arrogance and a snotty child. Now he would actually grow old. Now he would eventually die.

Even still being "special" did not console him. The magnetic powers had been amusing for a few moments, but then the soul-crushing depression was back. How could he fit all of his ideas into one lifetime? How could he solve problems that hadn't even arisen yet?

Nikola ran his long fingers over the windowsill. It had been painted over since the last time he'd been there. Evidently, pigeon-feet scratches were not favored on hotel room items. Nikola smiled as he heaved the window open. He knew that his beloved pigeon would not be back. After all, he had watched her die. But something about having the window open and waiting—just waiting—soothed his troubled soul a bit.

Slowly, he sank down on the bed. Absentmindedly, he locked the door with a flick of his fingers from across the room. Yes, this new power had been fun for a bit. But now, every time he used it, it was like acid on his heart. Every surge of magnetic power through his body was like a spit in the face.

_Mortal, mortal, mortal…_

Nikola groaned aloud and fell back onto the bed. He stared at the ceiling with blank eyes. How long could he live like this? The Five were dying off like rats. Though, Nikola had always expected that they would, he'd never imagined this _particular_ scenario.

He'd never expected to be one of them.

His eyes slid closed and he wondered how long he could lie motionless before his mortal body craved food or movement or some other such inconvenience. A knock at the door startled him and he jerked upright with a quick inhale. With interest, he felt his pulse race. Because of superhuman hearing, he'd not been startled by something in over a century. And so, he curiously studied the closed door, forcing the newcomer to knock again.

"Nikola?"

Helen's muffled voice drifted through the wood and he was on his feet in an instant. However, he didn't move toward the door. He watched as the knob twisted experimentally and he heard her sigh in exasperation before the banging came again.

"Nikola, I know you're in there."

*

Outside, Helen set her jaw, feeling unwelcome tears begin to build. Why would the man never let her help him? He'd refused to even ask her to help fake his death. He'd just pouted and slouched about until she finally offered to orchestrate it. Now he would wallow in self-pity until and unless she pulled him out of it—as always. And then he'd be back to normal again, wrestling with his next "key to the universe" and mouthing off about everyone being beneath him.

She lifted her fist to pound mercilessly on the door once more when the lift down the hall let out an innocent _ding_. Helen would have paid it no mind, except for the prickling sensation at the back of her skull. Surreptitiously, she watched three young people step off. The first thing she noticed was their anger. Rarely had she seen such livid expressions on faces so young.

The second thing she realized was their identities.

Chad Spencer, blond and useless, led the pack as usual. Nikola had accurately described the boy when he classified him as "alpha male type." Behind him were Darren Wilson, Laura, and another girl of unknown moniker. They strode toward Helen with firm purpose and the immortal's hand drifted to the back of her waistband where her pistol was nestled.

"Where is he?" Chad hissed.

"Who?" Helen asked, putting on her best confused face.

Chad pulled a pistol and the other three followed suit. Helen immediately reciprocated and all involved cocked their respective weapons.

"Where is Nikola Tesla?" Chad said, threateningly.

It was then that the room door swung open.

*

Inside his old room, Nikola's entire body tensed at the familiar voice that joined Helen's. He held himself still long enough to hear the sound of weapons arming before he lunged toward the door, fairly sprinting across the room. Responding to his urgency, the locks clicked open before he reached it and he was able to rip the door open immediately.

"Nikola, no!" Helen yelled immediately. "Get back inside!"

Her attention snapped back to the teenagers as she noted the telltale signs of someone about to fire a gun. Sharp inhale, tightening of muscles, focused line of sight. Luckily she was faster. Sliding in front of Nikola to cover the weaponless ex-vampire, she fired a burst. Chad went down immediately, before he could fully depress the trigger on his pistol.

Unfortunately there were three more of them. Simple math meant that Helen could not take them all out alone.

In what seemed slow-motion to Helen's adrenaline-soaked mind, Nikola moved with graceful silence. His expression did not change as he simply sidestepped in front of her, pushing her gently behind him with one arm. His other hand was extended toward the three ex-vampire children and their bullets froze in midair mere inches from his palm.

With their leader down and their weapons empty, the three angry teenagers fled. Helen let out a sigh that puffed her bangs up off of her forehead. She spun in front of Nikola, fully intending to rip into him with a good scolding, but she was silenced.

She watched her friend lower his hand and watched dozens of bullets clatter to the ground like hail. She watched as he frowned, as if confused. She watched him look down at himself.

She watched as three dark spots on his chest and stomach blossomed into black roses of blood.

"Damn." Nikola laughed shortly and it was half cough. He looked up at her with that cheeky smile at half-strength. "Missed three out of—what, thirty-six? Not bad. Always did like things that came in threes."

Then the smile drifted away and he swayed on his feet.

"No," Helen whispered.

But he was already slumping to his knees. Helen shot out her arms to catch him. Awkwardly, they both sank to the ground, her arms tight around him. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the blood-soaked silk plastered to his chest and abdomen. Helen ripped her mobile phone from her pocket.

"Nine-one-one, emergency response," came the calm female voice. "What is your emergency?"

"Yes, a man has been shot at The New Yorker Hotel, 481 Eighth Avenue—_hurry_!"

"Help is on the way, ma'am."

Helen didn't even bother snapping her phone shut; she simply dropped it on the floor and held onto Nikola, both arms wrapped around his upper body as he leaned half on her thighs. Tears escaped her eyes now.

"Hold on," she breathed. She tried to control it but her next words were thick with emotion. "Oh, god, please hold on, Nikola!"

"I sense…genuine…concern…" Nikola rasped. His breaths had already started hitching and rattling. He was paling rapidly. "I knew you"—a painful cough—"liked me."

The cough had lined his lips in dark crimson. His lung was punctured. He was drowning from the inside out and she was _useless_. Helen's heart twisted again and she tightened her grip around him, as if trying to keep his soul from escaping his body through sheer physical strength.

"Just try not to move," she managed. "You're going to be fine. You're going to be fine."

His smirk faded into an expression of pain. "No, Helen," he whispered. "I'm not."

"Stop talking," she snapped, but she was smiling through her tears. "You never did know when to shut your mouth."

He tried to smile one last time. His teeth were gritted in pain, but his lips still found their usual crooked tilt, gracing her with warmth one last time.

"I meant it…Helen…" he choked out. "What I said…in Rome…"

"Shhhh."

"No, listen…" His words were slurring, his eyes unfocussing. "I _love _you, Helen. I really…really…really love you."

Tears raced down her cheeks now. His eyes seemed to darken and shifted to stare off behind her head.

"No." The word came out brokenly and she shook her head for a moment, refusing to believe. Then she gasped in a breath and released it as a scream. "No, Nikola, _NO_!"

But his head sagged to the side, wide steel eyes lacking that insatiable sparkle.

Helen's face twisted in a tortured grimace of emotional pain. Her white teeth clenched into a death mask grin as her eyes squeezed shut. Her porcelain skin was more wet than dry. After several wordless, strangled moans deep in her throat, her grief finally ripped free so violently that it tore her head back, leaving her howling at the ceiling.

"_NOOO_!"

**~fin~**


End file.
